


conversations: who we are

by endlesshorizons



Series: so longs and ashes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BBC Sherlock & ACD Fusion, Conversations, M/M, Magical Realism, Reincarnation, Sherlock & John are both assholes, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesshorizons/pseuds/endlesshorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock talk after John saves Sherlock from Jefferson Hope and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	conversations: who we are

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is meant to be read in context with the rest of the series, so longs and ashes.

The small wind chime hooked to the top of the door tinkles as Holmes - Sherlock pushes the door open.

"Table for two," he calls to the dark-haired woman pouring tea for a young couple, and leads the way when she nods towards a table by the windows.

There are two laminated menus sitting beside the soy sauce and vinegar stand. Sherlock plucks them from their slot and places one in front of John. John doesn't spare it any more than a glance, and instead watches incredulously at the man seated opposite him, nonchalantly reading his own menu as if he hasn't a care in the world.

"Is that it, then?" John asks.

"Is what it?" Sherlock replies without looking up.

The careless brush-off strikes a tight cord inside John, stoking the fiery ball of temper that he has never quite managed to put away, no matter how many cycles he has lived.

"What do you think?" John snaps, gripping tightly to the edge of the table. "The pill, Sherlock! That bloody stunt you pulled! What were you thinking?"

Finally, finally, Sherlock lifts his head. His eyes are narrowed, scanning John's face in that analysing way he has.

"He said he was going to tell me how he did it. It was interesting," he said, shrugging.

"--Interesting! You could have _died_!"

Sherlock sighs. "Death. Really, John, don't be so pedestrian. Death is just a temporary respite from the constant tedium of life. It's not like I would really be _gone_."

John breathes in, breathes out, trying to process this new insight into the other man's thoughts. "So you don't care, then? You don't care how anyone else feels? They're not _interesting_ enough for you, are they?"

Sherlock says nothing, and John decides he can't do this anymore. Can't spend every day caring about someone who is just going to leave him behind. What had he been expecting? This is Sherlock Holmes, of course he isn't going to care about what other people think.

"Funny, I don't remember you being this irrational and _stupid_ before. Have a nice life, I hope it doesn't get _too_ _boring_ for you." John gets up and pulls his jacket from where it's draped on the back of his chair. This time, he gets to do the leaving.

"Oh, so that's how it is!" John turns around at the outburst. For the first time that night, emotion is slipping through the impassive mask of Sherlock's face. It's twisted in anger, eyes and nose scrunched up and spots of red bursting on his cheekbones in the dim incandescent light of the restaurant. "I don't fit your expectations, so you're just going to walk away? Do you know how hypocritical you are? You talk about being _nice_ and _caring_ and a _gentleman_ , but you've gone to war what, two, three times now, just this past century? You enjoy this as much as I do, risking your life, chasing after criminals, feeding off the rush of adrenaline. I know you, John Watson, don't pretend you're any better!"

Sherlock finishes his rant and glares up defiantly. For a moment, John can only stare back. As always, Sherlock knows exactly what he is talking about. It should make him feel uncomfortable, he should be offended, but instead it makes him feel free. It's another thing he has always liked about Holmes, John remembers, the way he would make irreverent comments while John struggled not to laugh, the way one or another of them would glance at the other behind a client's back and know exactly what the other was thinking.

John sits back down. After a moment, Sherlock's face softens. He taps the abandoned menus. "Eat up. You know I can always predict the fortune cookies."

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go! Another short one before *big things* happen...


End file.
